


can't stop this feeling

by Hectopascal



Series: Void Spawn [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Eldritch Abomination Peter, Gen, Mild Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:18:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectopascal/pseuds/Hectopascal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How the movie would have gone if Peter’s dad was actually an eldritch abomination.</p>
<p>Kink Meme Fill</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't stop this feeling

_So tear me open, pour me out_

_There’s things inside that scream and shout_

– Metallica

*

The new timeline (Mom-was-gone) started with blinding light and a roar so earthshakingly loud it crushed Peter’s scream like dust under torrential rain.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe a bomb detonating or a crashing meteor if he was in any fit state to reason. As it was, he just cried like his world was ending until gravity went backwards and he dropped up.

The seconds he was airborne were utterly terrifying. He flailed, twisting, but couldn’t go anywhere.

A hand seized his collar and Peter choked and wheezed and sobbed. He wasn’t getting enough air but he couldn’t _stop_. The light vanished and he looked down in time to see a circular hole snap shut beneath him. The floor appeared seamless. But it wasn’t; it was a lie. It was all a lie. Mom couldn’t be dead, couldn’t be, this couldn’t be happening.

He blinked, scared beyond tears, but fireworks continued to burst across his vision in the sudden dimness.

“What–?” he said thickly.

There were three men-shaped beings surrounding him, all wearing a roughly similar uniform and visibly armed with strange guns and long knives. They weren’t men, though. Peter _knew_ that like he _knew_ he wasn’t going to like what they did next. 

One of them was dangling Peter a good two feet above the ground; another was holding a squished box over which a tiny, translucent boy that looked a lot like him hovered ( _a hologram?_ ), and the last was swinging a chain that broke into three handcuff parts and trailed back some yards to a medium dog-sized, plastic crate.

 _A cage_ , a detached voice in the back of his head noted.

Swamped by a terrible panic, Peter took a deep breath, felt his bones start trembling, and—between one atom colliding with the next—shed his human skin.

 

_“Now, baby,” his mom had said one evening while they were sitting on the porch, Peter tucked into her side with her fingers pushing through his hair. “I know it’s got to be hard for you to hide all the time, but this is important. Safety comes first, always, or people will come and try to take you away.”_

_“I wouldn’t let them,” Peter purred, shuddering and letting a few spines slide free from his scalp. Meredith stroked them gently and didn’t remark upon their sudden appearance. “I’d make them go ‘way.”_

_Meredith chuckled. “I wouldn’t let them either, but it’d be dangerous. We could get in bad trouble.”_

_Peter squirmed around and crawled into her lap. His mom gave him a tight hug and he purred louder. “Like a time out?”_

_“Mm. More like a spanking.”_

_Meredith had never hit him, ever, but Peter had heard scary things about it from kids at school. He made a face into her shoulder and inhaled her scent. He could find her anywhere in the town using nothing but his ears, but her mom-smell was comforting._

_“But there are some times when it’s okay,” she continued._

_“Really?”_

_“Yes, sweetheart, but not for fun. Only when you’re in real danger and I’m not there. If somebody ever threatens you with a weapon or tries to take you somewhere you don’t want to go. If an adult ever tries to hurt you, then it’s always okay. You hear?”_

_“Uh huh,” Peter nodded solemnly and then asked for hot chocolate._

_He didn’t get it because it was too close to bedtime, but Meredith made him the special warm blood milk that made him sleepy instead, which was almost as good._

 

Peter _screeched_ as he changed and the man-shaped being holding him suddenly found itself incapable of doing any such thing because it no longer possessed hands. What passed through Peter’s endlessly shifting form was sent to his version of a mouth and what he swallowed was disintegrated into energy almost instantly.

Screams ripped the air apart and Peter hummed the first bars to _Hooked on a Feeling_ without conscious thought. He pushed his backpack out of the way, removing his Walkman to a safe distance, and reached for the other men-shaped beings. He examined his surroundings with a slew of eyes, and waved a small part of his person in the void to measure the sudden acceleration of the (he looked—up, left, right, down, through—and _saw_ ) spaceship he was on.

Blue blood splattered the floor and vanished, absorbed and converted for later use.

All of this he did at the same time.

See, here was the thing.

When he looked human was also the closest he could get to actually _being_ human. It wasn’t just him putting on an outfit, presto, the same product in different packaging. The inside changed to mostly match the outside, and important things, big things, happened to him.

Human-Peter was created and sustained by Meredith. He even modeled himself after her, once he figured out how to do such things.

She had been flattered, told him that there was nothing wrong with what he had done and that he could stay that way at home if he liked, but people would ask not-so-good questions if Peter showed up for pre-K one day as a girl when he had been a boy before. It was a part of the hiding thing.

“Girl?” Peter had asked and a very confusing conversation about binary gender had followed.

Still befuddled, but obedient, he had switched his primary and secondary genitalia. Then he had tweaked his chromosomes until his hair darkened to a soft brown, his eyes were a pretty blue-green, and he developed a smattering of freckles. He did it gradually, and only nudged his facial structure around the tiniest bit.

“You look just like your mother,” many people told him and Peter would grin, thrilled that they had noticed, and chirp, “Thanks, I know!”

Human-Peter, like his mom, tried to be fair and kind and good. Like his mom, his brain contained all the structures necessary for every human weakness, every pain, no matter how slight, and every joyful emotion. All the sad ones too. Grief, for example.

When he was _not_ Human-Peter... well. His model mom’s normally infinite capacity for compassion shrunk to nothing but basic drives such as:

I AM HUNGRY. I AM HURT. I AM ANGRY.

The screaming stopped. Silence fell.

Feeling nothing but distant contempt, Peter engulfed the chains now lying unassumingly on the floor and, with the slightest effort, shattered them into millions of irreparable pieces. He let them clink away without taking the opportunity to taste the metal that somehow sounded foreign to his senses. He didn’t want any of that trash actually _in him_.

Then.

Then he went exploring.

Peter was having a truly nightmarish day and right now he didn’t much care that he wanted everybody else to suffer it too.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this. *jazz hands*
> 
>  
> 
> Preview of Chapter 2:
> 
> The thing with the orb was an accident, really.


End file.
